Ties Of Blood
by Please.Insert.Name
Summary: In a world populated by the supernatural, a case leads Aaron Hotchner into a confrontation with an old enemy that has been going on for centuries. Add an unaware team to the mix, and more than a few secrets, will they finally end the cycle?
1. Prologue

No one knew how it had happened. Today's biologists were baffled. However, as far as they could tell 3.35 billion years ago their DNA had been tainted. The amino acids, the building blocks of life, had been given different instructions. They formed protein, but instead of that eventually creating just human life... well... it created something that could only be called 'different.'

No one knew how it had happened. The best scientific minds could only gather it had been the work of a meteor, bringing foreign particles that interfered with the 'primordial soup.'

However, what's done is done, and no one really bothered about it anymore.

It was normal.

* * *

><p>Aaron Hotchner looked in the mirror. His eyes still contained a hint of red, seeping into the black that was the usual colour of his irises. His face was chalky white, but colour was slowly returning, and he felt a warmth running through his veins as the blood was absorbed by his system. He looked almost human, and briefly he saw the man he used to be... before it had been stolen from him.<p>

By law, creatures were 'encouraged' to have a somewhat normal appearance. It made the humans feel safe.

Hotch wondered how safe a powerless human could feel in a world mainly populated by 'monsters.'

He certainly never felt safe, and he was considered one of those 'monsters.'

Moving from the bathroom, he entered his bedroom before kicking his shoes off. Flopping down on his bed, he closed his eyes.

His day had just begun.

* * *

><p>Derek Morgan ran across the fields. Wolves circled on either side, and charging through the undergrowth he matched their speed. The night was cold, unseasonably so, but as they ran, he could feel none of it.<p>

The fur was good for a reason.

Howling, the moon came into view, peeking out from behind obsidian clouds, and they doubled back. He was almost in the lead now, and snapping at the other's heels, he swiftly over took, leaping into the air in victory.

It wasn't the most conventional way to ride out the transformation. However, they all heard about the werewolves that had to be 'tamed' when under the influence of the full moon, and none of them wanted to be in that position.

Running was by far the safest way to burn up the excess energy produced from the metamorphosis.

And he was winning. Looks like he was going away with the fifty dollars this time.

* * *

><p>Jennifer Jareau was smiling. Cupping the water in her hands, she felt the icy cold run through her veins. Extending it towards her hands, she watched as the water rose, snake-like in front of her. As it rose up, she swallowed it. Not the most conventional way to take a drink, but it was nice to use her powers for something.<p>

Henry laughed, clapping his hands together as he watched his mommy do tricks. Will smiled at her, taking in the sight of his wife and their child. He was human, but as far as he was concerned he was the luckiest human in the world. Part of him hoped that Henry would inherit his mommy's abilities, apparently signs were meant to have shown by now, but he still lived in hope.

However, as far as he was concerned he already lived with two magical creatures.

* * *

><p>David Rossi sipped his drink, feeling the burn slip down his throat. Smacking his lips, he played his hand, trying not to laugh when it was met by groans from his fellow poker players. Gathering the chips, he stacked them up, mentally calculating how much he had won so far.<p>

Hmm, about a grand so far. Yep, better split.

Draining his glass, he placed it back on the table, rising nonchalantly at the same time. Glares met this move.

"Right boys, better be off. Have a round on me," he said, throwing a twenty on the table.

Seeing appeased looks, he hid a smirk. A free drink quenched anyone's rage. Taking his winnings to the converter, he left the casino a wealthier man.

Sometimes being psychic was brilliant.

* * *

><p>Emily Prentiss. That name generally carried dread, as well as a few curse words. Right now, she heard a few of those words coming from her pursuers. Jumping onto another roof, crawled along it, losing herself in the shadows.<p>

It was dark, oh so dark. But she wasn't scared.

She _was_ the darkness.

Hearing her hunters pass by, she rematerialised, seeing her pale skin stand out from the night. Leaping off, she landed catlike on top of a dumpster.

Sheathing her bloody dagger, she tidied herself up. If she was caught like this she may be prosecuted.

Humans never liked differences. Well... they never liked being reminded of their inferiority.

Then again, if her Hotch found out about her 'other job' he would probably freak out even worse.

Now _that_ would be entertaining.

* * *

><p>Penelope Garcia. One might already think she is an android. Her knowledge of computers certainly made it seem so. No, she was a fairy.<p>

Now. That. Wasn't. Macho.

She wanted to be a vampire, a slayer, hell she would even be a werewolf!

Fairies were small, they couldn't fight. A slayer could have a whole village dead in under ten minutes.

Instead she just immersed herself in computing.

She wanted to be the best. In fact, she was experimenting with AI, but R31D wasn't co-operating yet... Okay, she just couldn't get the filter right. When she asked him a question all he would do is unleash a barrage of information.

Maybe it was just one of his quirks.

Sighing, she ignored the raw deal she had been given by evolution. Plus, she could do some cool things.

Flying through the corridors of the BAU, she slid under the door to Hotch's office.

Surely the man wouldn't notice if a thimble of his scotch went missing.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I've recently immersed myself in supernatural fics, and I really, really wanted to write one. Please tell me if this is dire - Urgh, I hate first attempts. Excuses aside, this will have humour in it, I know it doesn't say on the genre, but they really should allow us to pick more than two! This is just the prologue, getting to know a little bit about their world, the next chapter will introduce a case, and then blast off :D And... I really have nothing else to say except 'please review!'_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds, I just like to play with them *evil grin*_

_I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this chapter.  
><em>


	2. Chapter 1

Hotch sat in his office, the pencil in his hand slowly being crushed into mere woodchips. He had known for a long time that Section Chief Strauss had hated him. Her hatred of anything non-human was almost as infamous as his glares. It appeared that since she was not high enough up the food chain to fire him, she was content to just try and make his life a misery.

She was a couple of millennia's too late.

However, she still slightly annoyed him, angering him more for messing with his team rather than himself. Their budget was already strained as it was, and slashing two percent off would only make it worse. Part of him was tempted to have a meeting with the director, see if he could _persuade_ him otherwise... No, once you tapped into those abilities there was no going back, and Hotch did not want to become the creature that made him. It would be a cold day in hell before that happened.

Seeing the new file on his desk, he sighed slightly before scanning it.

The profile... the victims... this was sooner than he expected, but he knew they would meet again. The only question was, would he have more in his bag of tricks, or would it still be the same, stale, performance?

It was always an endless cycle with them, matching each other, but never really getting the upperhand.

Maybe this time would be different.

Moving out of his office, he glanced into the bullpen. Normally when he came in, his agents were at their desks, drinking as much caffeine as their systems could endure. Today, however, his team were huddled around an empty desk. This was unusual.

"My team, conference room. Now," ordered Hotch, his voice waking up the more sleepy agents. The day was never really a good time for any of them. Hotch could feel his energy waning, but he was rather used to it by now.

Nobody had moved.

Seeing a colourful blur, Hotch smiled slightly. Whatever Garcia had done now, it was distracting everyone enough to not listen to his orders. And that really was saying something.

"What is going on?" he asked, watching them part like the red sea as he approached. As they moved, they revealed a man - android, Hotch amended when he saw the control panel discreetly concealed underneath a patch of hair. His hair was short, and brown, with equally brown eyes looking around in wonderment. He appeared to be around thirty, and his movements were rather awkward as he clutched a coffee mug possessively.

"I let him pick his own wardrobe, now he won't let me change it," said Garcia, Hotch's sensitive ears picking it up easily.

Looking him up and down, Hotch had to conclude that the android really had no fashion sense. Then again, maybe cardigans and cords were in this season, he had stopped listening to fashion about a couple of centuries ago.

That said, he was thankful that the camera hadn't been invented till 1827. Sometimes the world had small mercies, and he really did not look good in a ruff. It was around that time he decided to jump off the fashion train.

"What's his name?" asked Hotch, looking at his team and arching an eyebrow.

"Well he's called R31D, but I feel that's too impersonal. We've decided to put names in a hat, Reid can be his last name, but he needs a first name," said Garcia happily, handing Hotch a small scrap of paper.

Thinking for a moment, he settled on Jack, the pain from that name having been dimmed over the years, before folding it up, and placing it in the hat Morgan had provided. Where he got it, Hotch never knew.

"Thank you, cupcakes," said Garcia, diving into the hat, and producing one of the scraps. Flying back up to head height, she unravelled it, and declared in a loud, majestic voice, "I name thee… drum roll please… Spencer Reid."

"Who picked Spencer?" asked Emily, looking around at everyone.

"It was JJ," replied Rossi, grinning as the Media Liaison shot him a glare.

"Sometimes I hate that you're a psychic," growled JJ, her eyes glowing slightly.

"Why do you think he has three ex-wives," interjected Hotch, feeling a brief flash of amusement at his team's antics. After the conversion, it was said that vampires lose their emotions, this wasn't true per se, but they did dim a little, and it took a lot to make him laugh nowadays.

"Why couldn't I pick my own name?" asked Spencer, looking at everyone, a confused expression appearing on his face.

"Because if it's anything like your fashion sense, then we were doing you a favour," laughed Morgan, finding the android kind of endearing.

"What's wrong with my clothes? As long as they cover me up then it shouldn't matter what they look like," objected Spencer, his confusion only deepening.

"Morgan, if you don't leave my junior G-man alone, you will find your bank balance is severely reduced," threatened Garcia, sparks shooting out her index finger as she pointed at him.

"And how do you plan to do that, Baby Girl?" asked Morgan.

"Easy, your debit card, and a new wardrobe for Spencer," grinned the fairy.

"Are you sure you're not a pixie?" asked Morgan, finding the deviance of the supposedly pure creature amusing… and more than a little scary.

"Enough. I need you all in the conference room now," ordered Hotch, effectively ending what would only be yet another display of flirting - further proof that love could defy species... and logic.

"Sir, can Spencer come too? He's been programmed to assimilate 20,000 words per minute, and so far he has read everything he can on profiling. He could be an asset to the team," asked Garcia tentatively, casting her eyes to the young droid, sipping at his coffee happily.

"How about we use this case to test his abilities. Afterwards I want you to write up a report, and I can evaluate how useful he could be," suggested Hotch, watching as the woman lit up... literally... with happiness.

"Of course, Sir. I can promise that he will not let you down," assured Garcia, flying away to tell Spencer the good news.

* * *

><p>"Right, there have been a series of murders in Washington in and throughout the city of Gullston. What has attracted our particular attention to this case is the way the victims were killed. Gary Barns, Howard Milton, and Jessica Russell, are all vampires. Here, Barns and Milton were shot, and Russell stabbed. The Eye of Providence was present at each site," said JJ, bringing the images up on the screen.<p>

"The Eye of Providence was a key symbol in Egyptian mythology, often called The Eye of Horus symbolising royal power, health and protection. It can also be called the Eye of God, as used by the Freemasons, a sign that God watches all that they do," said Spencer, looking at the photos in awe.

"And so he is saying he is more powerful than us, and is watching our every move," surmised Morgan.

"Exactly. The murders have been sporadic. Barns was killed three weeks ago, with Milton only one, and Russell two days ago. The eye is created from their blood," said Hotch, pulling up the pictures of the crime scenes, three eyes staring at them eerily.

"It's strange that he used a knife on Russell, but not the others," said Emily, frowning as she looked at the photo of the butchered woman.

"In common cases stabbing can be seen as the sexual act itself, with the knife acting as the penis. This could suggest that the unsub is impotent, taking his sexual frustration out on any woman who catches his eye," said Reid, reading the file quickly.

"But that doesn't explain the men, why attack men when he prefers women?" asked Rossi.

"We'll know more once we get there, wheels up in thirty," finished Hotch, shutting off the screens, and watching as his team filed out.

Moving to his office, he grabbed his go-bag, barely sparing anything else a glance.

This was going to be a long case.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! I really wasn't expecting much, so it was really surprising! I know this is quick, and I'll probably update every week when I can manage it, but I like to put up the second chapter soon after I put up the first so you get an idea of where this is going. Next chapter we should get more of Hotch's background, a little is hinted here, but it plays a major part in this story. Anyhoo, before I bore you all to death, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter._

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds, but I do own Hotch, he is handcuffed to my bed ;)_

_I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes._

_Please Review!_


	3. Chapter 2

_(Around 70 BCE)  
><em>

_The sky was blue, the brief smatterings of cloud obscuring the azure expanse. He could smell scent of the grass wafting across the grounds. It gave the villa a homey air, and he sat under one of the trees, listening as the wind caused the leaves to rustle. _

_He had just returned from Sicily, having been called there two weeks prior by the Senate. The Governor was being taken to trial by his people, no longer protected by the office he once possessed. Hotch knew that some of his fellow Senators had been bribed by him to vote in his favour, but as Cicero laid out the case, Aaron could see exactly what the people had meant. Verres had abused his office, made a mockery of the duty he had sworn to do. However, before the trial had came to a close, the shamed Ex-Governor had fled into exile, taking with him as many treasures as possible. Although, maybe that was the best, it was unlikely Cicero, and the people of Sicily would have won._

_But now he was home, and he relished the feel of the grass beneath his fingertips, the sound of the slaves working on the fields. These were far better than the cry of city life, the bustle of carriages, the shouts of merchants, trying to sell their wares, the smell of the public lavatories, the putrid stench burning his nostrils..._

_"Pater!" came a familiar cry, and Aaron had only a few moments to prepare himself before the five year old threw himself into his father's arms, wrapping his small arms around his neck, and holding onto him fiercely. _

_"Hey, Jack," said Aaron, smiling at the sight of his son._

_"Sorry, Aaron. Jack, come here, pater is exhausted" apologised Haley, lifting the child off him._

_"It's fine, Haley. I've missed you both so much," said Aaron, standing up, and brushing grass off his toga. Enveloping them both in a hug, Aaron relaxed. He never knew what he would do without these two, although his job kept him away for periods of time, they were always waiting, giving him a reprieve from work. As they walked into the villa, he ordered one of the slaves to start dinner, content for the moment to be surrounded by those he loved._

* * *

><p><em>(Present day)<em>

Gullston was a small city, the air was humid, and they were all glad to see sparse cloud cover, sparing them all from the worse of the sun. Grabbing their go-bags, they met their escort, before piling into the SUV's and being taken to the police station.

In a city so small, the recent murders had everyone on edge. None was more concerned that the vampire population.. The tension was brewing, and Emily knew that a war was only one step away. If the vampires felt they were being targeted, they would lash out, make others aware of their dominance. This could potentially cause a chain reaction, encouraging others to do the same, and then the humans would have to act, taking their own out of the affected areas before blowing the hell out of all those who were left. It would be Seattle all over again.

Emily shuddered, remembering seeing the carnage on the news, the whimpers of the werewolf, limping around on three legs, the fairies who had been incinerated... That couldn't happen again.

Funnily enough, her mother couldn't care less. Their kind were meant to exterminate vampires. Slayers ran through blood, and she had betrayed hers. She even worked with a freaking vampire for god sake! It had caused tension initially, but when Hotch had seen no threat, he had let her in, and now, Emily was glad to say, they were somewhat friends. However, the contacts her mother had made her make still came in useful. Slayers were not only good for killing vampires, and although she had never planned on being an assassin, if it paid well, and the target deserved it, she had no qualms. Her contacts merely provided her with the information, a safe place to dump the body etcetera. It never came without its difficulties, however, and she still had the clover shaped burn from when one of her first targets had managed to subdue her for a short period of time.

Although, if Hotch ever found out he could hardly pull her up on it. He had killed probably into the hundreds. Vampires could only master control with age, being able to stop drinking was hard, but until one learned it, then the body count would rise, and the neighbours would notice. Hotch's control, although legendary, had been acquired over centuries, maybe even a millennia. There wasn't really much she knew about the taciturn leader, but she suspected he hadn't always been so robotic, or maybe it was just a vampire thing, she had no wish to find out first hand after all.

Looking out of the window, she watched the city pass by. It almost noon, and a few people were out, but, even without the knowledge of the case, it was pretty obvious something had scared these people, and that most were staying indoors. A few glanced at the convoy, curiosity entering their eyes, and Emily could see them relax slightly. The Feds were here, the bad guy would soon be caught, they were protected. She almost wanted to scream at them not to let their guard down.

Letting your guard down made you one step closer to becoming a potential victim.

Pulling into the station, they left their bags in the car. For today they would look over the info the officers had collected, maybe talk to a few family members to the deceased, before heading to the hotel Garcia had organised for them.

The station was rather modern looking. Automatic glass doors led them through to the foyer, a desk sergeant smiling grimly at them, and their escort. Chairs aligned the walls, and they headed past this into the main base of operations. There were about five desks in the room, stacks of folders on each, with officers busily going over them. The only sounds were hushed chatter, the scratch of pens, and the rustle of paper. A white board stood to one side, images and info of all the victims, as well as photos of the Eye of Providence decorating it. To one side was an office, and from this emerged a pale looking man. His hair was jet black, and his eyes a deep brown. To Emily he just screamed 'Vampire.'

"Hello, I'm Agent Jareau, we spoke on the phone. These are Agents Hotchner, Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi, and Doctor Spencer Reid," said JJ, extending her hand to the Police Chief.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Police Chief Alan Mitchell," he returned, shaking JJ's hand. "We have a room set up for you with everything you said you'd need. I'm afraid it's probably not what your used to, but our budget has been slashed, and we're lucky to even had a department like this."

"It's perfectly fine, we're used to working in diverse conditions," said Hotch, smiling a little at the man. Emily wished she had a camera, but then she guessed he wouldn't show up... or was that just a rumour he started to stop people trying to take his photo...

Moving into the conference room, Emily was relieved to see it had a coffee machine. The rest she never really cared about, but after last nights 'activities' she could use a shot of caffeine. Setting up a pot, she turned to help Spencer with the map - Garcia had told her that geographical profiling was his strongest suit - whilst JJ spoke to Mitchell, Hotch distributed the files an officer had helpfully placed in boxes on the table, and Morgan and Rossi put up various crime scene photos on the white board.

"Right, Morgan and Prentiss, I want you two to get started on victimology, and Reid, start working the geographical profile. Rossi, you and I shall talk to the victims relatives. They'll be coming by the station shortly," ordered Hotch.

* * *

><p>Hotch sighed, running his hands through his hair wearily. It was the same story every time. None of the victims relatives could tell why they had been targeted. It appeared that they had all had a pretty smooth time of it, no enemies, no bad break-ups or anything that might warrant their deaths. As usual, the choice of victims had been totally random, only another reason he suspected it was his old... friend.<p>

"You okay, Aaron?" asked Dave, sitting back on the couch. Mitchell had kindly let them use his office for the interviews, and Aaron had to say he had good taste. There was a desk, neatly arranged, with photos that could only be of his wife and kids - this had sent a jolt of pain to his still heart - and on a corkboard were newspaper articles of cases. A pot plant stood in the corner, the leaves withered slightly, and a filing cabinet was next to it. All in all, it was the office of a man dedicated to his job, but never knew a thing how to take care of plants.

"You're psychic, Dave," deadpanned Aaron, looking his once mentor in the eye, allowing amusement to creep into his features.

"I was trying to be polite," huffed Dave, smiling in spite of himself, "So do you think it's him?"

"Everything is adding up so far," said Aaron, running his fingers through his hair again.

"And how long do you think he'll wait in the shadows?"

"I don't know, last time there were around twenty victims before he showed himself, but that's varied over the years."

"We can't let it get that bad," murmured Dave, looking slightly troubled at this new information.

"I know, but without any leads on his whereabouts, we have no choice," sighed Aaron.

"So we wait," said Dave grimly.

"We have to," replied Aaron, equally as despondent.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! After realising I know practically nothing about the 1500's I've changed Hotch's age (he's over 2000 now O.o). The reason he is from Italy - and my old Classic's teacher would love me for this - is because I only really know indepth knowledge of Ancient Rome and Greece. I know Aaron, Jack, and Haley are not Roman names, and I considered giving them ones, before deciding that would detract from it. The case of Verres and Cicero did happen, the details are a little sketchy as it's been two years since I looked over it - and I only looked over one of Cicero's writings of it - and so Wikipedia became my source. If there are any errors, please tell me :) I hope you enjoyed this, I must say I'm having fun exploring the supernatural genre :D  
><em>

_I made Emily a Slayer, to explain some of Hotch's behaviour to her when she first joined, I know this isn't in that universe, but I want to stick as close to possible, and I really couldn't resist making Doyle one of her victims! *evil grin*  
><em>

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds... but Hotch would look good with fangs *sigh*_

_I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this chapter._

_Please Review!_


	4. Chapter 3

Hotch sighed, huddled in the corner of the hotel bar. It seemed like something out of the forties. Small, round tables were scattered around the room, a candle placed on each to illuminate the area just enough so the patron could find their drink. More candles were placed in sconces on the walls, and up in the arched ceiling was a chandelier that had seen better days. Soft melodies streamed from the pianist's fingers, the well worn tunes coating the semi-darkness lightly, lifting the hearts of the dejected, that sat listening below the stage.

For a moment, Hotch wondered what this place had seen. The despair that came with war time, the jubilation with the rise of the American nation, and the hushed silence that descended when the Cold War finally ended. He remembered those moments well, they were merely dots in the rich tapestry of his life, colouring the previously melancholy fabric, until the pain from his previous lives was erased. Almost.

Sitting here in the darkened bar, he took down his mental blocks, and allowed himself to remembered. He could recall the way Haley's hair shone in the midsummer's light, her eyes swirling with joy. The meetings of the Senate, the rituals conducted in the city each year. Even two thousand years later, he could still see the processions that moved through the streets, hear the chariots as they sped around the Circus Maximus. He once attended the gladiatorial fights, staying through the lunch hour.

It had been a mistake.

As he saw the criminals up against the gladiator, bare of weapons and clothing, he felt sickened. As much as he admired the Emperor, he never understood why this barbaric form of execution was still allowed.

Part of him wondered if this is was led him to his current occupation. He had dabbled over the years, but never strayed far from law enforcement. It was like a calling. Ever since he had realised that even if the Sicilian governor Verres stayed for the rest of his trial it was unlikely he would be convicted, he had felt frustrated with his position. He was a Senator, a politician. Some would view that that meant he could change things, but he had soon learnt that to change things you need support, and to get support you had to do favours, and sometimes those favours were shady. No, if he wanted something done, he would have to do it himself, and to do that he joined the law enforcement, after his... change. With a change of species, a change of job didn't seem too dramatic. And it wasn't like he had had a wife or son to provide for anymore.

Swirling his drink around, he watched the amber liquid coat the inside of the glass. The ice that hadn't already melted, clinked against the sides. Listening to the music, he allowed himself to be lost in it, weaving and twirling along with the crescendos, diminuendos, and legatos. It was minor in key, and seemed to be about lost love if the weary notes were anything to go by. How apt, he thought bitterly.

"I knew I would find you here," a woman's voice rang out from behind him, and Hotch turned slightly, taking in the still form of Emily Prentiss. She was out of her usual black suit, instead wearing a red sweater, and navy blue jeans. The splash of colour in the shadow covered room was refreshing, and Hotch felt his mood lift slightly.

The slayer used to make him wary. He knew her mother, she had made a killing in politics, as well as being successful. The Ambassador had been less than pleased when he had been assigned as part of her security detail about twenty or so years back, but he had proved himself, and so he knew she wouldn't shove a stake in his heart. However, her daughter had been another matter entirely. Now, however, he was at ease with her. The natural instinct of fighting had abated, and with that they had became somewhat friends. It was a friendship that defied millions of years of evolution, but it was a good one nonetheless.

"Why were you looking?" he asked, gesturing for her to take a seat, and summoning a waiter to order her a gin and tonic.

"Well, I was wondering, when we give the profile, can I give it to some of my contacts? I know a few people about this area, and they might know something," pitched Emily, accepting her drink with a smile of thanks.

"What's your theory?" asked Aaron. It was obvious with the light shining in Emily's eyes she had thought of something to do with the case, and it was more obvious with her body language that it wasn't about her contacts.

"I had Garcia look back over the years, to see if there were any similar killings. The scenes are too organised to have been a first time kill, and she told me that there was one in Boston, about fifteen years ago. Twenty vampires were murdered between 1995 and 1998, all stabbed or shot, with the Eye of Providence present at the scene. Now, in order to remain hidden for so long, the killer would likely be known in the underground. It's the safest place to hide from the humans, or from anyone really," said Emily, sipping her drink.

"Emily, it could just be a copycat," replied Aaron. If his heart was still functioning, it would be beating like a jackrabbit. She was so close, too close. He never wanted anyone to know what had happened to him. Rossi only knew because he was psychic, and really, nothing got past that man.

"Still, I think it's a good idea to give the profile to my contacts in the underground, if he has been hiding there, they would know," insisted Emily.

"Fine," murmured Aaron, sipping his drink and feeling the smooth burn of the whiskey slide down his throat.

Silence descended. The music weaved through them, dancing, and forming an impenetrable barrier. It was sweet, not the haunting melody from a few moment ago. It was as if the bar became brighter, the music fending off the darkness, and acting as a balm on old wounds. Automatically, his hand reached down to his stomach, but even through the material he knew his scars would be there. If they were gone, he would have realised, he had carried them for almost two thousand years after all.

"You okay?" asked Emily, and Aaron started slightly. Guiltily, he realised he had forgotten her, and offered her a weary smile.

"Yes, I'm just a little tired," he replied, hoping that would keep away any prying questions. He guarded his private life as viciously as Cerberus guarded Hell.

"Some Creature of the Night you are," laughed Emily, and Hotch wondered for a moment if the drink had gone to her head, or maybe he just hadn't appreciated her humour before. His mind was always dwelling on so many things, it was hard to keep track of his lifetimes.

"This case it just tougher than others," he confessed, a little of the truth seeping out. Immediately her exuberance ceased, instead replaced with concern.

"We all get those, I find chocolate ice cream helps," she said with a wink.

"I'll keep that in mind. The sun has set, I better be off," Aaron looked at his watch, and frowned. He was running later than usual. The change of time zones altered his feeding pattern somewhat, and it was hard to keep track.

"Catch one for me," said Emily, smiling slightly as she polished off her drink.

"Will do," he replied, offering a small smile in return.

"Oh, I have a question, just a quick one," she added hastily, "Do vampires not show up in photos, or was that a rumour you started?"

"You'll have to find out. Get some rest, you'll need it for tomorrow," came the amused reply, growing only more so at the look of disappointment that appeared on her face.

Walking away, Aaron slide through the doors, leaving the calming room. Once outside, he saw the stars peak out through the film of cloud, their shine muted. His eyes adjusted, and he saw as clear as day, allowing his senses to take over. His blood burned with hunger, as he allowed himself to register his need, and he ran, swiftly disappearing into the night, unaware that red eyes followed his every move, shining ominously in the light of the moon.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback. I was wondering do any of you have an idea who Hotch's enemy is yet? This chapter was meant to include the whole team, but I wanted to do a Hotch/Emily scene, and it just kinda took over. Next chapter will have a lot more of the team, I promise, and I'll try and post it up this week to make up for the shortness of this one :)  
><em>

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds *sigh*_

_I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this chapter._

_Please review!_


	5. Chapter 4

R31D, or Spencer as he had been christened, sat down at the table in the hotel restaurant rather awkwardly. He was still having trouble moving his long limbs in a fluid manner, but once he had had his coffee this would become slightly more manageable.

A blonde waitress put a menu in front of him, and he smiled at her, opening up the little booklet. It still fascinated him how humans, and humanoid life forms, could come up with so many ways in which to ingest the simple nutrients. Personally, he felt his way was far easier. Instead of all the fuss in preparing a meal, he had been designed to just need coffee. The caffeine fuelled his circuits, speeding up the electrical processes that made him a living being. Okay, living was stretching it, but he was a fully functioning automaton. Ordering, he sat back, watching as a few of his colleagues stumbled into the restaurant.

Morgan was first, which was unusual for the werewolf. Spencer had always thought he would need the most sleep. The metamorphosis into a lycan had to take some toll on the man, but as he sat down, all he did was order a full English, before grinning at Spencer.

Spencer may not have had emotions for very long, but this grin made him feel a little insecure, and more than a little wary.

"So, Pretty Boy, what did you get up to last night?" Spencer suspected there was some hidden meaning behind the simple words, but whatever it was was lost on him. Why couldn't people just say what they meant, instead of hiding behind double entendres? It was… frustrating.

"I read through everything I could find on Ancient Egyptian symbology, did you know that the ankh-" started Spencer, becoming more animated as the caffeine kicked in.

"Whoa, hold it kid, not until after breakfast," interrupted Morgan, his eyes lighting up as his food was placed in front of him.

Spencer looked with a little disdain at an example of_ 'Why Neanderthals shouldn't use tools.'_

Yep, he preferred his coffee by far.

* * *

><p>JJ was tired. Late night phone calls from Will had kept her up. Henry's temperature had dipped, going slightly below average. Normally this wouldn't be too much of a concern, but she couldn't help but wonder if this meant that Henry was gaining powers like hers. Part of being a water elf meant that her body temperature was always cooler than average humanoids - with the exception of Hotch, he was absolutely freezing! It allowed them to manipulate the water particles, bend them to their will, and do with them what they liked.<p>

However, she had been sharing a room with Emily, and so since she was kept up, her friend was also. Currently said friend was trying to make her hair something that never resembled a haystack. JJ would try to help, but adding water would only make it go frizzy, and that wouldn't go with her 'bad ass slayer' look, something JJ still found amusing. Whilst she was perfectly happy to wear colours, Emily loved black, and although she sometimes added a splash of blue or red, she would always combine it with so much of the dark colour that it was almost overwhelmed. Because her face was pale with fatigue, JJ could almost mistake her for a vampire, and that wasn't a good thing.

"The others are probably down there," said Emily, her voice gruff, and JJ got her a glass of water, "Thanks," she grinned at her, before gulping down the cool liquid. It seemed to rejuvenate her a little, and her resemblance to a Creature of the Night diminished slightly.

"They can wait, we're running earlier than usual anyway," said JJ, buttoning up her blouse.

"Knowing them, they'll be devouring half the restaurant by now," laughed Emily. JJ's mind flickered to Morgan's appetite, and couldn't help but agree with her friend. They would be lucky to get a slice of toast.

"Sorry about last night, I hadn't thought Will would be so worried," said JJ, sending her friend an apologetic glance.

"It's fine, I'm used to getting little sleep," brushed off Emily, slipping her shoes on, "You ready to go?"

"Yeah, just let me grab my bag."

* * *

><p>David Rossi was not a light sleeper, but even so, the alarm usually woke him the third time it went off… Well either that or Hotch throwing a pillow at him. It was the latter that woke him up this morning, and he chucked it back, hitting the vampire in the abdomen, before burrowing back into his bed.<p>

"Dave, your third wife is here," whispered Hotch.

Shit! Edna? In his foggy mind, Dave could picture the fiery red head, her hands on her hips, and tapping her foot in such a way that said _'You are in a shitload of trouble.'_ Sitting up, he looked around groggily for the harpy, only to see his protégé grinning at him.

"I thought you would be immune to that by now," said Hotch dryly.

"You never knew Edna, if you did, then you would know there is always the chance she could hunt me down," shuddered Dave, the woman was truly vicious, even being able to read minds he still couldn't understand the female gender. If a psychic couldn't, then what chance did the rest of the male humanoids have? He felt sorry for the poor bastards.

"I would have thought your abilities would have prevented that," replied Hotch, pulling on his tie.

"Yeah, what ones?" asked Dave with a wink.

"Well, I only know of your psychic ones," said Hotch, sidestepping what could potentially be a destructive conversation for his peace of mind.

"And that's all you ever will," laughed Dave, pulling himself out of bed and into a pair of jeans.

"Good to hear," deadpanned Hotch, heading into the bathroom.

Yawning, Dave grabbed a navy shirt, doing the buttons up clumsily. He detested mornings. One thing he missed about his sabbatical was being able to wake up whenever he wanted. He was generally a Night Owl, something his colleagues at the FBI would not be surprised to hear given his… reputation, and mornings did not fit into that image. Women and whiskey did.

Shucking on a blazer, he ran a brush through his hair, and waited on Hotch. Christ the man was taking forever. He was just about to bang on the door, when the shrill ring of the phone permeated the room. Wincing, Dave picked it up - anything to get rid of the infernal noise at this godforsaken hour.

"David Rossi," he answered curtly.

"Hello, this is reception calling. We have a letter here for an Agent Aaron Hotchner, if he could picked it up when he comes down for breakfast that would be great," said the receptionist. Dave wondered how the hell someone could be so chirpy in the mornings. Maybe she was on drugs…

"Sure, we'll be down shortly," replied Dave, resting the phone in the cradle.

"What was that?" asked Hotch, finally emerging.

"Reception have a letter for you," said Dave, sitting on his bead, and pulling on his loafers.

"Did they say who sent it?" asked Hotch immediately, and Dave saw his masks coming up.

"No, I said we would go and get it when we went for breakfast," he replied, standing up, and straightening his shirt.

"Let's go then," said Hotch impatiently, and Dave had to stop himself from reminding his protégé that he was in fact the one that was holding them up.

The hotel was one of the larger ones in the small city. It was built back in the forties, and although it had been refurbished on many occasions, elements of that era still remained. The carpets were a rich red, forming a blazing path throughout the many corridors, however, ultimately it always led to the grand staircase. The banister was made of brass, shining in the light of the well-worn chandelier that had been there since the hotel's opening. At the bottom of the staircase was the reception desk, and three doors. One leading to the toilets, another to the restaurant, and the last one was the exit. The walls and doors were all painted in a glossy cream colour, giving the establishment a regal air, as if royalty had once passed through the doors, or it had been home to a great event.

At the reception desk sat a curly haired blonde typing away at a keyboard. She was dressed in the standard uniform - a blue blouse and black slacks - and she appeared to be in her thirties. Eyeing her name badge, Dave saw that she was called June.

"Hello, how can I help you?" she asked the two men, turning away from the computer.

"Good morning, I'm Aaron Hotchner, I was told there was a letter waiting for me here," said Hotch, showing her his ID.

"Of course, here it is," said June happily, standing up, and moving towards the shelves situated at the back wall. Pausing at room 33, she picked up a white envelope, handing it to Hotch with a cheerful smile.

"Thank you, June," replied Hotch, and Dave turned to head into the restaurant. He could already smell the coffee wafting through the worn wood of the door, tempting him with its bitter fragrance. Eyeing the team - although he had heard their thoughts a mile away - Dave moved over to them, happy to see a coffee pot already at their table, and seizing it immediately after he sat down between Morgan and Prentiss. He was quite amused to see Spencer glare at him, and gave it back quickly to avoid the android's wrath.

Watching Hotch sit next to Spencer and JJ, he wondered what the letter was about. He had long ago stopped reading the thoughts of his friend. His history made it hard to see past the jumble of lifetimes residing in his mind, and quite frankly it gave him a headache. Sometimes, however, he caught a brief flash of thought, and now all he could detect was agitation. When he broke the seal, and unfurled the paper, Hotch's eyes rapidly scanned the letter, his face growing grimmer with each line.

"Hotch, what's that?" asked Morgan, pausing in his teasing of Prentiss to look at their unusually quiet leader.

Looking him directly in the eye, Dave felt Hotch's mental barriers fall, and he could hear his voice in his head. _It's him, Dave, it's really him._

"I think it's time you tell them what's going on, Aaron," said Dave finally.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! I said I'd post again this week, so here it is :) I'm sorry if it isn't up to the usual standard, I like to do one chapter from the rest of the team's perspective, but I've never felt particularly confident writing them. Still, if it gives you more insight, then it's worth it I suppose. Next chapter we see what Hotch has been keeping from the team, and learn a lot more about his history, it should be up some point next week :)_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds._

_I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this chapter._

_Please Review!_


	6. Chapter 6

"Tell us what?" asked Emily, buttering her croissant, whilst somehow still managing to look at Hotch.

"Aaron, you have no choice, they have to know. If they don't, then they could be in danger not knowing what they're up against," warned Rossi, feeling bad for doing this to his friend, but really, there was no other way.

"Do you know who's doin' this?" asked Morgan, his attention to his breakfast forgotten, as his eyes zeroed in on their uncomfortable leader.

"What does the letter say?" asked JJ, looking concernedly at their leader.

Hotch scowled, pressing his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. He knew this day would come, not so soon after Boston, but still. He wasn't prepared, no one should know this… but Dave was right, if they never knew about him, then they could be put in danger. Looking around at their concerned and slightly apprehensive faces, he felt a small twinge in his chest at the thought of them dying or worse because of him. No, he had to tell them. For the first time in two thousand years, he would speak of the day that had forever altered his life.

Clearing his throat, he took a sip of coffee, knowing he would need the extra shot of caffeine for their undoubtedly many questions. A hush seemed to fall on them, anticipation crackling in the air, as for once they would hear what many an agent had speculated about.

Hotch began.

* * *

><p><em>As per usual the day was warm, the summer sun beating down on his back as he made the walk back to the villa. He had spent the day just walking, strolling around the countryside that had been his home for almost twenty years. His father had been a senator like him, the family situated in the city. There they had thrived politically, however, family wise was a different story. His father hadn't been home much, and his mother had tried to make do, but when you had a younger brother who needed more attention, it was hard to share time equally. <em>

_When his father was home he went out to many drinking parties, dragging his mother with him. When they came home intoxicated after indulging in both food and wine, his mother would go to bed, relying on the slaves to look after her sons, whereas his father would grow violent, disciplining Aaron whom he felt was coddled too much. Sometimes his father would go out alone to these parties, his mother's health not allowing her to frequent them as often as her spouse would like. On one occasion he had followed him, through the back alleys of Rome, before finding him enamoured in the arms of another woman. Subsequent stalking found these females to be… varied._

_As he grew, he couldn't wait to be free from the city. To escape from it's taint, and find a new path. However, Hotchner's were always politicians, and they were good at what they did. Ultimately, after his father had died from an imbalance of the humours, he found himself back at the Senate, and he knew this would alter the path he wanted his life to go down, but he never knew it would alter it quite as much as it did._

_Entering the villa, he called for Alma, wondering when dinner would be ready. It was nearly sunset, and his stomach snarled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Waiting a few moments, he was slightly irritated when Alma never came, and ventured through the hall intent on finding her._

_It was quiet... too quiet.  
><em>

_The sound of breaking pottery upstairs alerted him that something wasn't right. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he changed direction, heading instead for the bedroom. Moving up the narrow passageway, he crept along the corridor, peeking around the door. What he saw made his blood run cold._

_Haley was lying next to their bed, her eyes were glassy, the blue orbs staring at him, but seeing nothing. Crimson streaked the ceiling, the spatter making him cringe when he saw they originated from a large gash in her neck, and what appeared to be several on her torso. On the ceiling a large eye stared down at him, pink in colour, obviously drawn using the blood that had darkened the once white canvas._

_However, this is not what made him freeze. There was one more horrifying thing in that room._

_Jack._

_His boy was being held in the arms of what appeared to be a vampire. The man had grey hair, his eyes sunken slightly, and he squinted in the midday sun. Grazing Jack's neck was a knife, rusty coloured already with the blood of his mother. The man saw Aaron, his grin growing wider, manically so. _

_This made no sense._

_Why would a vampire kill in this way? There were no sightings in the area, and either he never noticed the copious amounts of blood in the room, or he never cared. Aaron quickly decided on the latter. _

_"Who are you?" he asked, praying to the gods he could distract the man long enough to free his son._

_"You should know that, Aaron," purred the vampire, raising the knife just a little and running his tongue along the blade before wrinkling his nose. "One would think you would have better taste."_

_"I don't know who you are, but you have no problem with my son. Release him," ordered Aaron, raising the mask he wore so often in his work. Seeing the man's face twist, becoming more feral as the blood ensnared his system, Aaron felt dread pool in his stomach.  
><em>

_"As you wish," came the calm reply._

_In horror, Aaron watched as Jack was pushed... Falling into the path of the blade. The shriek pierced his eardrums, and dimly he registered the sound, but all he really saw was his son's face, morphed into a mask of pain. Rushing forward, he caught the small body before it hit the tiles. Hearing the jagged gasps, watching the blood pour from the young boy's lips, he knew there was nothing he could do, but still he tried... If he never, he wouldn't forgive himself._

_"Jack, stay with me buddy, please," his voice started out soft, trying to mask the pain he was feeling._

_"No... no, don't close your eyes! Keep them open!" His voice turned frantic, feeling his son steadily go limp in his arms as his soul left his body._

_"Jack... Jack..." broken sobs now emitted from his lips, tears welling in his eyes before overflowing, running in heavy rivulets down his cheeks._

_He was dead._

_"If you had only been quicker you might have saved him." The taunting voice popped his bubble of grief, distracted him enough to realise his family's slayer was in the room with him, watching him breakdown. He would get no such satisfaction. In grief fuelled rage, Aaron laid Jack down, straightening up before looking at the vampire._

_His restraint broke._

_Charging, he wanted to tear the being apart with his bare hands, feel his life seep from his body and know that he was the cause. Grabbing his head, he slammed it into one of the paintings that hung in their room. The delicate frame cracked at the impact, tearing a long gash into the once pretty picture. If the vampire was shocked, he never showed it, instead he gave Aaron a quick jab to the gut, enough to make him lose his grip. Seizing the moment, Aaron felt his assailant propel him backwards, knocking them both to the floor. Rolling, they each tried to get the upper hand, the vampire's superior strength giving him no advantage against his infuriated opponent. However, Aaron felt his strength waning, just a little, and the longer they grappled it got worse. His grief was overpowering his anger, and with that his will to fight was fast leaving his mind. _

_"I'm going to kill you," he whispered, but as the vampire towered over him, he realised he was defeated._

_A small part of him never minded. If he died, then he would see his family again, be reunited under Hades rule in the Underworld. Hope filled his chest, lightening him, and giving him the courage to look his attacker in the eye. He never cared anymore, he could die and it wouldn't matter... in fact, it would be better. The love of his life, and their child were gone from him, separated by the barrier between the living and the dead. _

_He had nothing to lose._

_The vampire saw this. He saw the hopelessness in his prey's eyes, and a new plan formed in his mind. It was risky, but it would be better than the quick satisfaction he would glean from this one kill. Yes, this was better._

_"Do you wanna see my scars? What do you think? You like them? Yours are gonna look just the same," said the vampire softly, his fingers tracing two small holes just over his pulse point. "But first you need to be weakened."_

_The first stab was excruciating, piercing through material, skin, flesh, and muscle. However, Aaron kept his eyes open, he never flinched back from the horror. What sustained him was the small hope that he would die, that somehow a mistake would be made, and, instead of weakening him, he would kill him. The alternative was too much. Eternal life was meaningless when you were missing half your heart._

_"Try to relax. Your body will go numb, and it goes in so much easier, if you relax."_

_The blade dug into his flesh again... and again, until he had lost count. His mind willed him to black out, but he couldn't. This could be his last time with his family, and if he had to go through this to get it, he would do so in a heartbeat. _

_"Haley... Jack," he tried to call to them, hoping they could hear him, and know he would be joining his soon._

_"Shhh, don't speak, you've lost a lot of blood," the Creature of the Night was almost being gentle with him. "This will help," _

_The last thing he knew before his vision faded, were a pair of fangs sinking into his neck._

* * *

><p>"Hotch… that's… I'm so sorry," Emily managed, her appetite long lost as the story had unfolded.<p>

"It was years ago," brushed off Hotch, but the newly awoken pain in his eyes, told the team that it could have been yesterday to him for all he knew.

"… One thing I don't get, why didn't he drink your blood? I thought that was how vampires were created," asked Morgan.

"To create a vampire, one must first weaken them to the point of death. After this, the creator must introduce his or her venom into their victim. This venom will activate the vampiric gene, resulting in full transformation," answered Hotch evasively.

"Couldn't he just drink until you were at the point of death?" asked Reid.

"He wanted me to feel his pain. Later I found out he was created when he had wounds similar to my own, and he wanted me to forever be reminded as he had been with the scars."

"Did you ever find out his name?" asked JJ, her blue eyes filled with unshed tears. If that had happened to her, and Will and Henry were dead, she never knew what she would do... It was just barbaric.

"He checks up on me every few years, and during one such time I found his name was George Foyet, however, he uses aliases to try and mislead me, all are usually an anagram of either his name, or his title 'The Reaper'. When I had fully matured, I set out to destroy him, and since then he has recreated what he did to me on many other people, but instead of turning them into vampires, he shows me what could have happened if he had not acted."

"But if so, why did he start using a gun?" asked Emily.

"He wants to make me try and find him, the harder the trail, the slower I will be, whilst he sits back and watches me fail."

"He gets off on control, he fed off of Aaron's grief for a long time, until that wasn't enough. Then, knowing Aaron wanted revenge, he sets the scene and controls the players like a puppeteer. This is his way of taunting Aaron, showing him the thing he cannot have" added Rossi.

"What's that?" asked Morgan, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Death," said Hotch quietly, grateful that no one said anything about it.

"Do you know why he attacked you in the first place?" asked Reid.

"No, that is one thing I haven't been able to figure out in all our encounters. I assume he'll get some satisfaction on me not knowing."

"This time we'll get him for you, Hotch," said Morgan angrily.

"I'm counting on it."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! Sorry about the late update, it was my birthday and exam results in the same week so I was really stressed out. This chapter was really, really hard to write, I wince whenever I see Hotch being stabbed by Foyet, and writing is worse! *shudder* I hope this made sense, and wasn't too painful to read. I would appreciate it if you took the time to review :)_

_Also, I know you're probably wondering why Hotch never killed himself if he wanted to die, personally I just don't see it in his character, and he won't really be able to rest until Foyet is dead.  
><em>

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds._

_I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this chapter._


	7. Chapter 7

_Italics_ = flashbacks

* * *

><p>They were in the Police Station looking over the profile, modifying it with the new information, to say it was taking a while was an understatement. With two thousand years worth of history, one would think it would be easy, but instead it made it harder, with many instances to collect information from. The team was feeling the strain, and Aaron was no exception. He desperately wanted to get out there, to search the manuel way, but logically he knew it was best to follow the profile, and he forced himself to focus.<p>

"Hotch, if you know what he looks like, we could get a sketch artist in here, and circulate the image," suggested Morgan.

"No, that will only feed his ego. He wants recognition, and if we give it to him he'll become more ambitious, there's no telling how many he'll kill if that happens," replied Aaron, accepting a mug of coffee from JJ, knowing that he would need more than caffeine to get him through this day.

* * *

><p><em>Waking up, the first thing he registered was the smell of earth. It was rich, and slowly it made its way into his consciousness, as awareness started to seep back. His body hurt, but nothing beat the pain in his neck and torso. It felt as if something had stabbed him, but the gods were known for sending realistic dreams to mortals. The pain would disappear as he awoke of that he was certain.<br>_

_ Snapping his eyes open, he first realised that it was dark. Automatically, he knew he was underneath something, and looking up, he saw that he was in a cave. The cavern was made of jagged rocks, they jutted out, as if they were teeth, and he were prey. Wondering how he got here, looked around and saw he saw an eye drawn on one of the walls, with the words 'You owe me,' scrawled beneath. It took a moment to realise that he shouldn't be able to see this at all._

_Where was Haley? Where was Jack?  
><em>

_Now, panicking, he willed his mind to remember what had happened._

_Ever since then, he regretted how hard he strove for that._

* * *

><p>Closing his eyes, Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to block the stream of memories. People were dying now, it was no time to focus on the past, and yet it was as if a dam had broken, and he was helpless against the barrage.<p>

* * *

><p><em>The red eyes followed him, narrowing slightly as he neared. It hadn't taken him long this time.<em>

_He had learned, it appeared Foyet hadn't._

_"My boy's all grown up," Foyet appraised him, but the steel in his voice was obvious, at least to him._

_"You should try it some time," commented Hotch dryly._

_After this no words had been exchanged, they had fought, and Foyet had retreated. Continuing on in a seemingly endless cycle, a cycle that he had let go on so long._

_Once again he had failed, and each one weighed him down more than the last. It was a miracle he was still upright._

* * *

><p>Blinking, Hotch returned to the present. Every now and then, one of the team would throw a concerned glance, and he inwardly rolled his eyes. After two thousand years he had never told his story, and this was why. Dave seemed to sense his discomfort, for he motioned his head, signalling for them to step outside.<p>

"You okay?" asked Dave, closing the door of the conference room with a soft thud.

"I'm fine, it's just been a while since I've thought about... that day," confessed Aaron, running a weary hand through his hair.

"Repression isn't healthy, Aaron," chastised Dave, and Aaron glared at him.

"You're one to talk, you have more baggage than anyone else on this team," retorted Aaron.

"And that's exactly what my three ex-wives said, but still, my point is valid."

"I don't need a counsellor, Dave. I need to find Foyet," Aaron almost growled this, his eyes flashing red momentarily, before returning to their dark brown. To his credit, Dave never looked fazed, but he had pissed off many a vampire in his time, in fact, he never thought there was a species he hadn't offended.

"And that's clouding your vision. Take a step back, and think. How did you track him down before?"

"The anagrams helped me deduce his alias, and since I know what he looks like it was only a matter of time. However, his techniques have developed over the years as he keeps trying to thwart me. And this time, I don't think it will be as easy," Aaron cast his mind back over the times they had met. It was always at night, and they were always alone. But more recently Foyet had contacted him, taunting him, and giving clues of his whereabouts. It was only a matter of time until he did this, the letter had just been to shock him, and force him to confess to his team. No doubt Foyet wanted him to be alienated from them, the revelation that he knew who was attacking the vampire populace, but concealed it causing strains, and eventually breaking him.

"Reid can figure out the anagrams, I haven't seen a machine that sophisticated in a long time," Aaron chuckled at Dave's awe, "And he'll want to inject himself into the investigation, he's probably watching us now."

"He's monitored my progress in the past, it's one of the ways I've tracked him before. If we set up a tip line there is a high chance he'll contact it, and from there we can trace the call," Aaron thought out loud, and Dave nodded, mulling the idea over as well.

"If he's as organised as he normally is, he will either use a payphone or a disposable. However, if I can speak to him, I'm sure I can get him to release a few more details." added Aaron, feeling a slight prickle of annoyance when he realised it all depended on whether Foyet wanted to be caught.

"Breadcrumbs, let's just hope they lead us to him," commented Dave, moving back into the conference room, sighing deeply, Aaron followed.

* * *

><p>"This type of unsub is classed as an omnivore. His victims don't form a pattern, and his unpredictability is what makes this type the hardest to catch," Morgan was leaning on one of the many desks littered about the room, and the officers assembled had their notebooks out, jotting down the pertinent details.<p>

"He is entirely focused on the kill. He will spend years planning, and enact his kills quickly and efficiently. Very few can match a vampire in a struggle, and so we believe he too is a vampire. Outwardly he will be above thirty, most likely mid-forties," Emily added.

"He thrives on control and recognition. Because of this, he will want to know where we are in the investigation, and may return to the site of his kills. Look for anyone almost eager at the thought of the bloodshed, or hovering around the crime scenes" said Dave.

"Because of this we are going to set up a tip line. He will most likely call it, and ask for the Agent in charge. If this happens, inform us immediately," contributed JJ.

"The cooling off periods between his kills is decreasing. He has spent so long planning this, that he is almost frenzied in being able to finally act. This does not mean he has no control. Unlike other killers he will not de-evolve, he has done this before, with one registered case in Boston between1995-1998. This unsub is incredibly intelligent, and do not underestimate him," commented Reid, looking a little awkward in front of so many people.

"He has shown a preference for young women. Stabbing them multiple times as opposed to the men, who are disposed of quickly. This suggests impotence, and he could be in a position involving young women. Teachers, counsellors, coaches... Look at anyone placed on the sex offenders register for offences to teenage girls in the past ten years," said Hotch, his arms crossed as he surveyed the room stonily.

"Are their any questions?" asked Mitchell, looking over at his men, and getting no reply. "Take the assignments on your desks, and report your findings to either myself or the Agents."

Once the men had dispersed, Aaron walked over to the Police Chief. Mitchell was paler than normal, and it was evident he hadn't been sleeping well. The slightly dark tinge to his blue eyes told Aaron that he hadn't been feeding either.

"We'll try and narrow it down further," said Aaron, frowning slightly as the chief looked even more weary, "You shouldn't run yourself down. Take a few hours off, we won't catch him if we allow ourselves to burnout."

Mitchell looked grateful. "Thanks, I'll be back in a few hours."

"Hey, Hotch?" Aaron heard Emily coming up behind him, and turned reluctantly. It hadn't been strained between them since his confession, but the badgering was getting annoying.

"What is it, Prentiss?" he asked, half hoping she wasn't going to enquire about his wellbeing.

"I've gotten in touch with my contacts, and they're willing to help. They should be back to me by tonight," Emily's eyes were bright, and Aaron wished he felt some of her enthusiasm. All he felt was tired, and he desperately hoped the chase would end soon... As if it ever did...

"Tell Reid to come up with a list of anagrams from both The Reaper and George Foyet, and go around your contacts with them along with the profile. There's a high chance he's using one of them."

"Yes, Sir," replied Emily, and Aaron decided he didn't want to know much about her 'contacts'.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! I'm sorry this is so late, I've been trying to finish some of my other fics as I'm moving out to go to university next week :/ Because of this I don't know when I'll have time to update, but once I'm settled I should start posting more regularly. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, if there are any mistakes regarding the profile please tell me - it's been a while since I've seen Omnivore, and whilst I'm not copying it, the information is close. I hope some of the flashbacks shedded more light on Hotch, and next chapter things will speed up quite a bit :) I'll try and have that up before I leave, and I would appreciate it if you review._

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds :(_

_I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this chapter._


	8. Chapter 8

It was with weary eyes that Hotch read over what Emily's contacts had managed to find. He never wanted to question the source of the report, but he would have to be blind if he hadn't noticed Emily's other job by now, and if it helped the case, he never really cared.

Apparently there had been reports over the years of disappearance of vampires in the underground, only for them to be found a few days later, mutilated - it was suspected with a knife - and an eye drawn on their chests in their blood.

All the victims were female.

Maybe after all the centuries he was devolving. The multiple kills over a period of time, away from the media spotlight indicated that the urge to kill was overpowering the need for recognition. Whilst it never helped him get any closer to catching him, it was an interesting development nonetheless, and gave him a little more insight into his nemesis's mindset now, compared with their last encounter.

However, other than that, the rest of the information could point to anyone, the details so vague that they could do nothing with them.

Sighing, he paced his hotel room, his eyes staring off into the distance, as he tried to recall his memories of the rogue vampire.

Everything he could recall had went into the profile. There was nothing left, and after all this time he was still stumped.

"Aaron, sit down, your pacing is giving me a headache," complained Rossi from his perch on his bed, pouring over the case notes.

"Have you found anything?" Hotch tried to ignore the frustration in his voice, and instead focus on the current investigation. Looking any further into the past wouldn't help them.

"No, and I won't unless you calm down, and help," Rossi's voice held a hidden command, and Hotch ran his fingers through his hair, before sitting down in the nearest armchair.

"Sorry, I just want this to be over," Hotch let the annoyance that had only been building since his conversion show. Once more his eyes flashed red, and this time Rossi put his notes to the side, sitting up and surveying him with a look that said _'we're going to have a really awkward and personal talk now.'_

"Aaron, when this is over, what are your plans?" asked Rossi, his forearms resting on his thighs, peering intently at his protégé.

"I plan to carry on as normal," came the quiet reply. The only give away that it was a lie was the way he held his gaze for too long.

"Bullshit," it was strange hearing the profanity from the psychic, and Hotch shook his head slightly, "Death, is that what you want, Aaron?" The pain was what surprised him. Twenty odd years was not enough for him to form an emotional attachment, not when he had lived for more than one hundred times that. Still, he felt as if he had been slapped, and recoiled as if that were so.

"I have lived so much longer than you, after this is over, there is nothing else," he admitted, his eyes cast onto the carpet.

"But there is," protested Rossi, his eyes imploring him to see reason.

"Like what?" asked Hotch bitterly, "I've been through multiple lifetimes, without the chase, life is meaningless."

"You may have lived through many lifetimes, but you haven't moved on from your first," whispered Rossi, their gazes locking, one full of understanding, the other emptiness.

"How can I when he's still out there!" Hotch's voice held that infuriating calm, but underneath Rossi heard the anguish, and for a vampire, that meant a lot of emotion was bubbling beneath the surface.

"You can talk to me, tell me how unfair this is, for once in your life vent to another living thing!" said Rossi earnestly.

"Worse things have happened," once again was that damn calmness, and Rossi wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him till he saw sense.

"But not to you," Rossi's words hovered in the air between them, and he felt the atmosphere shift, changing into something more open. The signs came slowly, at first his eyes darkened, turning into a smouldering burgundy. His fangs appeared, his canines elongating into the weapons that had been the death of thousands. Finally, his hands gripped the armrests so tightly, he tore the cloth from the poor piece of furniture.

"I know it wasn't fair. You don't have to tell me it wasn't fair. Yes, I wish I was dead. I've wished that everyday since my conversion, and the only thing that keeps me going it the idea of avenging my family. Does that make you happy? Really, Dave?" Aaron's voice had taken on a haunted tone, it was quiet, the self-contained anger of a man in whom it had festered a long time. Two thousand years of pent up rage finally released.

"None of this makes me happy, Aaron. What I want is for you to tell me how you feel," Dave's words were careful, as despite his friend's self control, he knew the vampire was a few words away from destroying the room, and he never wanted to explain that to the team.

"I don't feel, can't you see that now!" The anger simmered there, becoming more evident as the dialogue progressed.

"I know you do, I've seen it."

"Vampires don't feel," growled Aaron, his eyes now becoming brighter, and Dave wondered if he was seeing his friend for the first time.

"Yes they do. I know other vampires, and even they show more feeling than you," Dave's voice became more passionate, as he tried to get through to the man he now saw as a son - age notwithstanding.

"With age, feelings become dulled," Hotch's voice was toneless, and his face was fighting to look controlled.

If something was going to push him over the edge, it was going to be this next remark.

"They don't, you've just locked away your feelings, and hidden behind the vampiric theories for millennia to escape the horror of your change!"

"Can you blame me!" yelled Hotch, standing up, and taking the armrests with him. Throwing them to the side, he continued, "I lost my family, I lost everything I loved... I was away so much, I missed him growing up, I missed his first steps! And Haley... I failed her! I vowed to protect her, and I failed, Dave, I wasn't there! If I was there they would still be alive!"

"He would have killed you too, Aaron," said Dave quietly.

"I WISH HE HAD!" Hotch screamed, his voice reverberating off the walls, "You don't know what it's like Dave! This case, Foyet... I_ have_ to get him, and if I have to spend the rest of my existence hunting him, then I will! Only when he is destroyed can I rest, and can I see them again. If I kill myself, then I will never see Haley and Jack again, but if I let him kill me, then I will never allow myself to see her..."

And then the pieces fell into place.

"I won't kill you after you kill him, Aaron." Even the words felt like poison in Dave's mouth.

"Please, Dave, I can't live like this anymore. I need a purpose, and that has been my purpose for so long, I can't find another," Hotch's voice had gone quiet again, his rage having momentarily left him, and he sagged, falling back onto the chair.

"How about we make a deal. After you kill him, in one year, that isn't long to you, if you haven't found a purpose, I will shove the dagger in myself," Aaron looked at him like a drowning man looking at the surface, and realising it was just in reach.

"We have a deal."

They shook hands, and Dave vowed he wouldn't let it ever get that far.

The shrill ring of Hotch's phone brought the present back into the room, chasing away the conversation they had just had.

"That was Prentiss, he's called the tip line," said Hotch gravely.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! Sorry about the wait, I was wrapping my other stories up, and by the time I finished that the exams had rolled around, and my free time just ran screaming for the hills! I'm wrapping this story up now, and it should be finished in the next couple of weeks since I'm now on holiday, and so - if I have any readers left - I am sorry, and I will be a lot quicker now :) _

_Now, this chapter. I know this chapter was pretty intense, and Hotch might seem OOC, but this outburst has been brewing since his conversion, and it was time he dealt with it. I will address the deal Rossi and him have made in later chapters, but first we need to meet Foyet :D So glad I have my mojo back!_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds *sigh*_

_I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this chapter._


	9. Chapter 9

"He specifically asked for you, Sir," Emily handed the receiver to him, and clutching the plastic, it was taking all his willpower not to crush it.

"Really, thank you, Prentiss," placing the receiver in the cradle, he put it on loudspeaker. The first thing he heard was a breathy laugh, and the familiar icy chill crept down his spine.

_"You haven't changed, Aaron,"_ the name rolled off his tongue, his soft voice caressing it, as if Hotch was an old friend whom he hadn't spoken to in a long time.

The urge to pulverise the phone increased.

"And you neither," replied Hotch stiffly. "What do you want?"

_"Always so direct,"_ chuckled Foyet, _"I have missed you."_

"I can't say the same thing," the steel in Hotch's voice was harder to ignore this time, and Mitchell glanced at him, clearly wondering Hotch's history with the unsub.

_"Careful, Aaron. You don't want to anger me now, do you? You've wanted my blood for years, now I'm giving you the chance, upping the stakes if you will."_

"Get to the point," spat Hotch, his eyes turning red for a moment, and he saw Rossi move next to him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

_"In the next twenty-four hours I will kill again. I have already selected my target, and I'm watching her as we speak. She looks so much like Haley, Aaron, it'll be a shame if you only see her in the mortuary. Now, listen closely, here's your clue. We will be in the district I believe the locals call 'Demon County,'"_ it was clear Foyet was smiling at the name,_ "Further clues await you there. Good luck."_

The sound of the dial tone filled the room, and Hotch hung up, looking expectantly at the police chief.

"Where is Demon's County?" It was clear Hotch wasn't going to answer Mitchell's unvoiced questions on his history, and the dejection in the vampire was almost visible.

"It's downtown, between Madison Garden's, and the city's edge. You can't miss it, and most of our calls are down there."

"Rough neighbourhood?" asked Emily, leaning against one of the many desks that littered the room.

"It's one of the bases of the Cimmerian Syndicate," Mitchell's eyes held the contempt of a man who had many dealings with them.

"The Demon mafia, I had no idea they were based here," breathed Morgan, "When I was in Chicago, we had a bit of trouble from them involving the sales of pixie dust, but when it came to the bust they just melted away."

"That is only one of the things they deal in, and they have many bases so they can hide at the smallest notice," piped up one of the other officers - Sandstone, Hotch thought his name was.

"It makes it a bitch trying to pin stuff on them," muttered another, and all nodded in agreement with varying levels of frustration on their faces.

"Okay, we need to fan out, and try to find him before he kills this woman. Now, if he plans to hold her for twenty-four hours, it will have to be somewhere secluded, away from major gang operations," said Hotch, taking charge again.

"That would be these areas," Mitchell pointed to three locations on the map, and Reid circled them.

"Good, now everyone should be with their partner at all times. This man is incredibly dangerous, and we need to be careful," said Hotch, noting all the men's faces, varying from anxious to excited.

"He said there would be clues when we get there, what do you think they'll be?" If anyone thought it was strange JJ was asking Hotch this, no one said anything.

"I don't know, but I don't think we'll miss them," replied Hotch grimly.

"Right, you all heard that, move out," ordered Mitchell, and the men gradually filed out of the room.

* * *

><p>Hotch always felt that Kevlar was useless for him. Really, all it took to kill him was a stab in the heart, and the idea that he would even let an unsub get that close was laughable. However, as he strapped it on, for once he was thankful for the constricting vest. Maybe it would actually contribute in saving his life this time.<p>

"Hotch, man, Garcia says we gotta see this," Morgan looked tense, more tense than normal after a transformation.

"What's up?" he asked, holstering his gun, and walking up to the stressed werewolf.

"Come on an see," were Morgan's only words.

_"The vampire community is in turmoil. In the small city of Gullston, Washington, three bodies have been discovered, and our contacts within the FBI believe it to be a series of hate crimes. This has spiralled, and all over the states there have been increased vampiric activity, with fighting breaking out last night in several parts of the country, most notably Washington DC where the highest concentration of vampires situated. It is thought, that if this isn't stopped soon, then immediate action will have to be taken to protect non-creature citizens of the United States. The President has already been advised to take action, and all emergency services are on standby, and evacuation procedures are beginning in the areas most affected..."_ the newsreader looked grave as she read out the bulletin, and Hotch felt a block of ice settle in his stomach.

It would be Seattle all over again.

Last time, when the fighting had gotten so intense, squadrons had went in, evacuating all humans, and leaving the rest behind.

Then the humans had thought it prudent to drop a bomb.

Hotch still remembered seeing the carnage, the vampires still half alive, and dying so slowly, young ones were looking longingly at the sun, wishing it would rise a little faster, and speed up the process. He never hated humans, he just hated the creature fearing government, but even that moment had made him despise the whole race, and he had almost became what he hated, judging a whole species because of isolated incidents.

"If we wrap this up soon, then perhaps tensions will decrease. I for one don't believe it is this bad, most probably there is a xenophobic politician pulling the strings, trying to turn the majority of the populace against vampires, and give an excuse to implement control procedures," Hotch said this calmly, when inside he was seething.

"I can call my mother. Whilst she has made her distaste for vampires... obvious, she will not stand by and let the human's decimate what she sees as innocent life. There is also the bonus that I'm in one of the affected areas, despite her feelings for me, she won't stand by and allow me to die," Emily had already pulled out her cell, looking imploringly at Hotch.

"Thank you, Emily, any help will be appreciated," replied Hotch, giving the Slayer a rare smile.

"Okay, Aaron, you ready to do this?" asked Rossi, when Emily had left the conference room.

Giving a swift nod, they left the station, Rossi's eyes remaining on the elder's back, and worry coiling in his gut about the confrontation he knew was coming.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! It's nice to know I still have some readers :) I referred to Seattle in the second chapter, and so I thought I should expand on that here, if you have any more questions please just message me or review. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and Foyet's first appearance - was he in character? I don't really like writing his dialogue, because we don't see that much of him in the show, and for me his voice is hard to hear - and next chapter things will start to heat up for the team, and Hotch :)_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds *sigh*_

_I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this chapter._

_Please review!_


	10. Chapter 10

Personally Aaron felt the first clue was a little obvious. Foyet had always liked the Eye Of Providence, and looking at the painted on the side of a warehouse, Aaron could see it wasn't for the aesthetic quality. Morgan let out an impressed whistle, and, guns raised, Aaron motioned to the rest of the officers to sweep the area as they entered the building.

Demon's County certainly lived up to the name. Everywhere was desolate, boarded up windows, and cracked pavements shaping a place that could only really be called a wasteland. Occasionally, curious eyes would peer out from behind half closed shutters, only to retreat the moment their gaze was met. The area had obviously been neglected, abandoned the second the demons entered it.

The warehouse was no exception.

Empty crates lined the walls, a moulding pile of broken cardboard boxes was confined to one corner, and if he listened closely enough, he could hear the rats scampering through the ventilation ducts, that hung precariously from the ceiling.

"I knew you would be here sooner of later," a drawling voice echoed out, and six guns trained on it. A man appeared from behind one of the crates, his eyes were red, and his image seemed flicker, as if it was merely a shade. The man himself was handsome, chiselled features, neat, jet black hair, and a smile that Aaron was sure had attracted many a female in his time.

"Baal, it is a pleasure to see you again," Emily's voice was cold, and looking at her, Hotch assumed he was one of her 'contacts'. Still, he did not relax his stance, and neither did his team.

"Miss Prentiss, I believe the pleasure is mine," Baal's voice was silky, and it was to the credit of his team that they never moved an inch, "You are hunting a vampyre who believes it is a sport to kill his own kind, no?"

"Indeed we are, what have you heard of him," replied Hotch stiffly, darkening eyes surveying the equally dark creature before him.

"Aaron Hotchner, I hadn't thought I would ever make your acquaintance. We have heard of your... encounters with this creature over the centuries, and it would be in your best interests if he was dealt with quietly. We do not need our operations disturbed for some personal quest of yours," Baal now spoke sweetly, but underneath the threat was simmering as hotly as the rage that now burned through Aaron's veins.

"Now, Baal, is there really the need for threats, we are all friends here, aren't we?" Emily's voice also held danger, and Baal backed down slightly.

"Of course," Baal grinned, displaying perfectly even teeth, and raised his arms in a gesture of welcome, before lowering them, and smoothing the creases the gesture had made in his charcoal grey suit. This demon was pure image, and as the electric current of lethality seemed to snap back and forth between him and Emily, he never let it affect his outward appearance.

"I want your men to scout the area and inform us if they find this vampyre, you need to no more. We will take him out quietly, but this is your territory, do you not also want to make an example of one who would breach that?" Aaron had to admire Emily's steady head here, she had lowered her gun, and to many it would look as if she was at ease with this creature, the only thing that corrected it was the undercurrent of hostility between them.

Baal looked thoughtful for a moment, his head cocked to the left as if he were thinking through a particularly difficult puzzle, then his grin widened as he reached his conclusion, "I have missed you, Emily, why did we let time pass like this?"

"You tried to kill me," said Emily simply, but her voice held no hint of a grudge.

"You killed my lieutenant. It was merely business," Baal retorted calmly.

"As was his death, I believe you wanted a replacement regardless," Emily analysed her nails, not giving the demon even a glance after this.

"Image, my dear, I would imagine with your background you would understand."

"And that is why you are still alive," Emily's words were frosty, but beneath there lingered a familiarity that Hotch knew he would rather not question. Her private life was her own, and if it helped them here, then he never cared about the ethics.

Baal chuckled, the laugh was velvety, and Emily laughed as well, before the two embraced.

"Very well, we have a deal. I shall get my best men on it, and they will report to you every half hour. You have one day, and once you are done with him" he addressed Hotch, "We shall take care of the remains."

"Image," muttered Emily.

"Do not curse what you know is vital to both your and my operations," the demon criticised, before he dissolved, no doubt going to order his men what to do.

"Who was he, Prentiss?" asked Morgan, looking slightly dazed by the conversation.

"That was Baal, he is one of the more higher up members of the Cimmerian Syndicate," replied Emily, looking slightly sheepish now she was faced with the team's questions.

"And how do you know him?" asked Reid, his brilliant mind needing more information to make sense of this.

"I was hired to assassinate his lieutenant by one of my mother's business partners. He was impressed by my work, but to keep up his image he had to make it look like he avenged his man. We see each other every few years when our interests collide," Emily looked them all in the eye, daring them to criticise her other work.

"Do you kill people often, Prentiss?" Aaron couldn't help but ask, and Emily's glare turned on him.

"Only those who deserve it," she said shortly. "Now, Baal has likely gotten his men organised by now, but I wouldn't put it past him to deal with Foyet himself, but given the fact he knows your history with him, and I'm involved, he should restrain himself long enough to tell us about it."

"Do you think they will find him?" asked Aaron, pacing the warehouse agitatedly.

"It depends if they can decipher the clues," said Rossi.

"His cell is highly intelligent, the odds are that they will locate him in a few hours. His men have the knowledge of the area as well, so our chances of saving that woman have just increased significantly," Emily's eyes were glittering, and the pressure on their shoulders seemed to decrease slightly at this.

"Reid, any idea where the next clue is?" Garcia had downloaded maps of the area into the androids matrix, and they waited a few moments as he assimilated the information.

"We should keep heading North. He'll need a location away from the syndicate's main base here, and so the further out we go, the higher the probability," the android replied quickly.

"Alright," said Aaron, dialling the Police Chief's cell, "Mitchell, it's Agent Hotchner. We've made contact with the demons, they're aiding the search. We're heading Northwards, and we'll let you know immediately if we find anything."

Hanging up, Aaron motioned for them to leave, wondering just how much more complicated this was going to get.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! I'm sorry this is so short, but Baal's scene went on longer than I had planned since he really wanted to hog the limelight XD I hope you enjoyed this, and I'll have the next chapter up soon!_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds, apparently a hug wasn't enough to get the rights :(_

_I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this chapter._

_I would really appreciate it if you review :)_


End file.
